


they've got experience not being themselves

by cinderrain



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, F/F, Liberties taken with sci-fi plausibility, M/M, Mind Control, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9046205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderrain/pseuds/cinderrain
Summary: For vanishedschism for the 2016 Red vs Blue Secret Santa exchange! Wash and Carolina return from a mission infected with a new and exciting mind-virus-thing. Dr. Grey is all over it, but unfortunately does not keep as close an eye on her patients as she probably should.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vanishedSchism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishedSchism/gifts).



> I had a lot of fun looking into mind control tropes to write this! I hope you enjoy it. c:  
> Merry Christmas!

Doctor Emily Grey has seen _interesting_ things, in her time working on Chorus so closely among the alien technology, but none quite so upsetting and unique as this. Upsetting, mostly, for the afflicted of course - she’s far too focused on the intricacies of this particular problem to worry about worrying. She can handle it, because of course she can - it’s not a question of if she’ll figure out a cure, but when.

It would help, though, if her patients were anyone but the Freelancers. Those two are regarded widely as role models, and well-loved by their Red and Blue companions, which makes it all rather complicated to keep a quiet infirmary where the big damn heroes can rest and where Grey can work out her solution. She’s managed to shut everyone else out for the moment, but she spares a sigh for the missing assistance of the Agents’ reputation and (relatively) sensible attitudes for keeping the crowd at bay.

Right now, Wash and Carolina are settled down on beds next to each other, out of armour and visibly distressed. They’d managed to stumble back from their mission all right, Wash’s arm over Carolina’s shoulders, and none of those back home were surprised that they were the first to be infected with whatever-this-is given their respective tendencies to charge headlong into dangerous situations. Once they arrived in the infirmary, however, Wash’s condition started deteriorating further as soon as he lost the support of his armour, and Carolina followed him by collapsing a few moments later.

Grey will admit she’s a little concerned by the lack of physical ailments and the fact that both patients appear to be having either vivid nightmares or hallucinations, but she’s managed to obtain a sample to poke at. They won’t be going anywhere, she thinks, with the shaky-limbed and _unconscious_ state of being she’d last seen them in. It would be perfectly safe to leave the room for two minutes to collect equipment to analyse all this with.

She’s wrong.

She sets everything down on the desk in her office and rushes to the door, but by the time the beds are back in her line of sight, their occupants are gone. The sheets on Carolina’s bed are twisted, but Wash’s are on the floor - that explains the sound she’d heard. He must have gotten tangled in them, or tripped and fallen.

In this kind of situation, what she’s expected to do is to radio for help and then wait in her infirmary for her patients to be brought back to her. She does the former, just to report the situation and warn for wandering invalids, but as for the latter -

Grey is so very tired of waiting. They’re her responsibility. Here is a list of things Dr. Emily Grey is: smart, competent, good with her hands; in armour, and not dead. Here is what she is not: irresponsible; waiting for someone else to herd her suffering soldiers back to her like lost sheep.

She grabs some prepared sedatives, puts her helmet back on, and goes.

\--

The alien parasite-virus settles into a place in the host’s mind that has been empty for a long time. The host isn’t happy about it; whenever given the chance, he claws clumsily at his temples and pulls weakly at his hair. Control over motor skills is tightened as a result, and then the host isn’t doing much of his own accord at all.

They stagger through the hallways. The host makes another internal wince of discomfort when he notices a lack of armour weighing down his steps, the soles of his bare feet hitting the floor. He’s cold.

With functions like breathing automated and conscious actions out of his control, the host-mind has very little to do but retreat feverishly into memory. Specifically, he recalls an _Agent Maine_ \- a tall, intimidating stature with broad shoulders, a first meeting. A warm hand and a gruff voice, when they’d gotten used to watching each others’ backs.

A sick feeling settling down into his guts when everything had gone wrong, up to and including having lost Maine for good but not having the choice to stop walking alongside the Meta. He remembers giving up on seeing any hint of recognition long before it reached the point where he had to fight what used to be Maine. He remembers still, forever, always wondering whether there was any amount of Maine left there, and hurting with _he’ll never know_.

“Wash?” A voice from the present pulls the host back into consciousness, and he registers pink before instincts that aren’t his take over and he’s lunging forward.

_“Wash? Hey, uh.” Donut glances over at him, uncertainty in the way he’s still mostly turned away. Wash doesn’t look up. He knows what Donut might ask, and he knows what he might have to work through, and - he’s not ready yet. He’s still working through it himself._

There’s no room for complexities like unresolved guilt, here; there is only negative emotion that follows to bare hands with scraped-up knuckles scrabbling at pink armour, one knee pinning the target to the ground.

Somehow, between the confused, hurt sounds and the host’s own reluctance and horror, the helmet is tossed aside and there are fingers around Donut’s throat. Blood is drawn somewhere, fingernails tearing through scarred skin, and then Wash slumps over and falls to the ground - himself again, empty again.

\--

Carolina knows what it’s like to have something in her mind that she isn’t surrendering to. All that time negotiating boundaries with Epsilon paid off, despite the fact that back then it had mostly been fueled by paranoia and a memory of that one disastrous occurrence with the twins. She spares a brief moment to be glad that Epsilon had been left with Tucker the moment fuckery was suspected in her brain, because at least he can’t be hurt by this.

She’s only lucid and in control some of the time, despite her snarling, bared-teeth struggle in her own mind for bodily autonomy. She keeps shuffling uncertainly toward the sound of soldiers clanking down the halls, and then jerking away, horrified, when she remembers that she’s most likely infectious.

She hates this kind of fight: the long, drawn-out kind that has an uncertain outcome. Even fighting a losing battle is better than this, because there’s an ending that she can look forward to. The end of many a mission, back in Freelancer, came with Four Seven Niner arriving to extract them and bring them back home. She’d always make sure that everyone was in, everyone was okay; her job, yes, but Carolina misses that sense of safety.

She’s tired. She wants Niner, and she wants home.

She catches herself gravitating to the light again, with the chatter of a more populated space, and she manages to kick her speed unit into action for a brief few seconds and aims herself as far away from everyone else as possible. When she comes to, she’s not precisely where she meant to go, but the doorway she’s slumped down next to is easy to find and not too public. It’ll have to do.

\--

Donut’s not back yet, and Doc is starting to get concerned. He’d just gone to get something to eat for both of them, but with the probability of shenanigans around the Reds and Blues... okay, yeah, Doc’s going to go check.

What he finds is Wash, curled up on his side in a tight ball with his spine pressed against the wall. Donut is nowhere to be seen - and then, abruptly, Donut crashes into Doc’s shoulder and the momentum carries both of them into the wall. Everything rattles, and Wash whimpers a little.

With the amount of experience he has with possession, it doesn’t take Doc more than a few seconds to piece together roughly what’s happening. He’s being attacked; Donut might not be himself; he needs to get away from this situation because although his ribs are only bruised, they might crack with another hit like that. He backs into Donut’s room before he realizes that he’s just penned himself in, but by the time he’s scanning his surroundings for another exit Donut’s in his face again.

There’s a terrifying blank look in Donut’s eyes, and the spot on his cheek where he’d laughed and kissed him earlier as a playful send-off is bleeding. Donut - or whatever’s inside him - draws back a fist, and Doc flinches.

There’s a moment where everything freezes, and a conflicted expression surfaces on Donut’s face. Doc takes the chance to move in close, secure Donut in a hug, and lean him hard against the nearest wall. He flails, but Doc has him.

He knows how getting possessed sucks. He knows it too well, actually, and so when Donut’s fist catches him on the side of the head he just sticks it out and stays put. _Do no harm_. There’s not much else for him to do here but lock his knees and grit his teeth, but he’s used to that. It also sucks, to not be able to fix things when they’re broken right in front of him.

There’s not a whole lot of room for a (former?) pacifist who can barely medic right on a good day in the middle of a serious war like this. He knows that, too, but he doesn’t let himself get caught up in that because why would he when he can bury himself in the memory of Donut’s laugh and that little bit of happiness they built together in Valhalla?

He holds everything together as best he can and waits for the real doctor to arrive.

\--

Grey storms down the corridors, chirping out bright “nope!”s to everyone who offers to help. She’s the one with the strong knock-out drugs here, thank you very much. Do they not understand that you can’t just render people unconscious with blows to the head whenever convenient when there’s already uncertainty about what’s going on in aforementioned heads? Honestly, how Wash survived this many head injuries is completely beyond her.

She finds Carolina - bless her sensibleness, a simple and direct path for once - settled uncomfortable somewhere out of the way, and she administers one dose of sedative just in case. Carolina shifts as it kicks in, mumbling “Niner?” to herself and reaching out with a limp arm. Grey gives her a brisk pat on the shoulder and makes a mental note to come back for her less trouble-causing patient later. She needs to track down the other one first, along with any additional casualties she suspects he might have caused.

It takes her a little longer, but at least she doesn’t have to follow a path of destruction and collateral damage to reach the place where Wash is shaking slightly on the ground. She checks him over quickly to make sure he’s okay - for a “non-life-threatening” sense of the word - before radioing his teammates and leaving him to their care.

As Tucker directs Caboose to pick Wash up properly, Grey ventures cautiously into the room with an open door. DuFresne - Doc, the interesting one, except they’re all the interesting one - cranes his neck to look back over his shoulder at her.

“Oh, hey. You’re here to help.”

It’s not a question, but she nods anyway. Sedate, barely avoid both of them swooning into her arms, and then she has to leave the room to yell at the gathering Reds.

“We do _not_ need all of you here! You, and you.” She points at Grif and Simmons. “I’ll send you Carolina’s position on a map. Make sure she gets back to the infirmary in one piece.” She gestures for Sarge to follow her, and together they maneuver Donut all the way back and into a bed. Doc hovers, but she waves him away to rest. She’ll need to scan him later, in case the virus transmitted somehow in all the chaos.

For now: back to unique and upsetting. This could be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely did not do enough research for this, apologies if anything's just blatantly. Wrong.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
